Warhammer 40k cold blooded
by Dontai
Summary: Follow a young man growing up on a imperial world surviving by smuggling technology. When the leader of his lowercity crime syndicate goes missing, it sets him off on heart wrenching tale that will bring you to the depth of your soul.
1. Chapter 1

This story is early alpha and subject to change. I'm looking for proof readers. Message, me to apply

Aethelwulf stares out at the bleak field just outside of New Somburg. The massive hive city stretches into the distance before suddenly dropping off revealing the outer city of Hurrfurt. It was no better than Somburg, filthy from the industrial machine that never stops turning; belching out smoke and soot. Every time the winds shifted Somburg pollution rolls over in thick waves.

He was waiting for his contact to appear holding the contraband. The white sphere with glittering jewel was clearly Eldar in nature. It was illegal to have alien technology in your possession, something he thought was stupid. In a world where a loaf of bread cost 150 credits and you made 8 credits a day, you needed every advantage. Alien technology could save billions and restart the stagnated imperium. Instead it's outlawed and techpriest cling to their fabled STCs.

Almost to prove his point his communicator beeped. She is early. The thought of talking to his beloved made his heart stir. "Hey hun," he says with his face changing to a much happier expression despite situation.

"Has the contact arrived," she asks in sweet tone?

"No foreplay," he jests?

There is a barely audible chuckle, and he looks back at the drab city behind him. It was barely better than his lower city.

She replies, "You're such a tease. Sorry, no time Hun. Maybe when you get home." She lets out a squeal that sounds more like a falsetto, more animate and rhythmic.

"I'm sure he'll be here soon." He says bent over with his right foot resting on the outer balcony.

"I hope so; it was hard securing it from my sisters. I hope you'll be home soon. Love you."

He smiles even though she couldn't see it. "Love you too, I'll be home soon. Bye." He gives a pauses before hanging up in case she wants to say something else.

A crunch on gravel refocused his attention on the shady person in front of him. This wasn't his first drop off but he was still nervous. Despite how hot the day was, it wasn't heat causing the sweat to run down his legs. "Your late," he says to him.

"Sorry," the man says in unreadable tone "authority is tight."

He steps forward with the Eldar artifact in his out stretched hands. "Here is the Eldar artifact."

"Thank you," the man says taking the artifact and handing him the 1010 credit payment. The man steps uncomfortably close as to stuff an extra 150 credits in his pocket. Then without another word, but a curt nod of his head, stalks into the shadows.

He gives a huff, "not much of a talker are you?" The stress of the situation causes him lights up a cigarette. After taking a slow drag, he starts heading home. The shakes didn't leave him that day.

Halfway home he notices the local PDF following him in secret. Well best as heavily armored and armed men can do. He pretends that he didn't notice them, browsing store fronts and stopping to smoke. If they wanted him, he would have already been captured. They were tailing him. Except he kind of knew about this area. They wouldn't follow him past the lowercity enterance, he just had to escape. He jerkingly turned a corner and burst into a run. After rounding another corner, he ended up right where he wanted to be, an endless maze of backallys. It goes exactly as he had planned. Weaving left and right in the maze following a route only he knew and no one else.

Eventually he found the exist out of the backalleys, but PDF guards were stationed outside of it. The soldiers weren't paid enough to chase down smugglers and were looking up and down the street disinterested. He didn't have to put up a fight to get past them. He simply walked past them and blended in with the crowd.

He thought for sure he lost them, managing to reach descending lower road connecting midcity with the lowercity. On both sides were massive concrete and steel warehouses surrounded by chain links fences. The loading yards was a maze of shipping containers. A hundred feet back a lone guard spotted him. Before he was even aware, the PDF had him in the sky and on the ground. They were trying to follow him, why not try to arrest him. He didn't get it.

Hopping over the gate, he zigzagged past the many rows of shipping containers and loading vehicles. Before climbing over a second fence and running down the street towards the lowercity. Once he reaches the side routes on either side of two main highways, he pauses to see if the guards would pursue him. They had formed up at the entrance next to a large green directional sign. One of them, supposedly their leader, wearing the sigil of Ramthas was on a vox unit. He says something and the troopers halt. That was that. Were they just chasing him out of midcity? He never did find out.

She hadn't heard back from him in a while and was starting to worry. He should have been home by now, but he had been late before. She gets off of the dirty mess of burgandy colored patchwork fabric that counts as a couch to get a drink. The apartment is small, like most in Somburg, living space is at a premium. The carpet is synthetic plastic material that use to be a light-grayish brown but is stained a much darker color from the dirt tracked across it's surface.

The walls are covered in peeling wallpaper stained yellow from the pollution in the air, the newly installed air filters could barely keep up with the demand. She tries her best to make this her home. Besides Aethelwulf, this wasn't her home. It was a temporary sanctuary nothing more. The holy aura kept the ever hungry slaanesh at bay and the legion of inquisitor kept cultists away. It made the city safe.

She moves to the kitchen. Opening the built in refrigerator, hearing it humming long before she saw it. Somedays she felt the humming in her bones like a ghost haunting her. She opens it up and took out a strange imported juice. Fruits had a hard time growing on this world and this was closest equivalency.

When the door flew open, it had startled her. She turns around to see a sweaty Aethelwulf breathing in ragged pants. She takes a sigh of relief on not seeing the artifact, but she knew something is wrong. "What happened," she asks with concern?

"Ran into my old friend the PDF. This third time in the last two weeks. They had me dead to rights." He pauses knowing she had a hard time grasping human's idioms. "They had several opportunities to make an arrest, but they never did. I can't tell if there trying to chase me away or trying to follow me."

"Damn," she says. "We might need to lay low for a while." He nods in agreement before stumbling to the couch ten feet away which squeaks in protest against his weight.

She moves into the kitchen, but he didn't follow her. Instead turning on the local holovox. A live broadcast is playing of Xur Ramthas talking to a selectively gathered crowed.

"My run for election will change everything. The wicked will punish everyone. Crime in the midupper will be brought to a halt. We are entering a new age."

He laughed at the way the crowd robotically applauses the speech. These people were obviously preselected because of their loyalty and support. Xur message was a joke too. My ass, he thought. And I'll end pollution and make it rain candy from the sky. Your just another dumb politician getting into power through lies.

His wife turns his thoughts from holovox. She was bringing with her a dish full of food, it made him notice how hungry he was. He tore into the food and she giggles, even her laughs were like music. There is a brief moment where he is lost in her crystal blue eyes. When he finally broke their gaze, he watches her vault with grace and swiftness up and over the couch landing besides him.

"Show off," he says snickering. He says drawing her in close and holding her tight. Her breathes become purrs as she is drawn in close. Their arms envelope each other. He caresses her cheek and she cranks her head making it easier for him. Her entire face becomes flush and he can feel the blood pulsing under her skin. Her temperature always spikes a few degrees when she was turned on. You could pick it up on a thermal reader, he should know, he had tried it. The curiosities of her species, the possibilities of the future. Maybe in another universe where things turned out differently, humanity knew the answers. Now the only lingering faint echoes of truth were in that room between two star struck lovers.

The next day a massive storm caused by the industrial devastation to the planet rocked the hive city. You could hear the storms even from the bottom of the hive city. The noise drug him out of his sleep and out of bed with a yawn. His beloved whimpered but did not stir.

He reaches for his jeans and T-shirt, neither of which had been or would be washed in months, and went out of his room into the L shaped corridor, through the living room into the kitchen. Taking what passed as coffee, he put the ground up herbs into the tray. With a flip of a switch the machine comes to life and he existed the kitchen for the bathroom. In the bathroom he finds the toothpaste is nearly empty. He sighs to himself. It was 850 credits and it went so fast.

Once he brushes his teeth, he waits for the taste to subside by turning on the antique music player next to the mural painted in the living room. The antique comes to life with a chugging scratching sound, like cats escaping out of a metal box. The music of choice: classic music from Abaenu, his home world. It's overt depressing tone were overlaid with happy tones from before the fall of man. It would swell with sad tones before climaxing with happy tones. As music filled his ears, he stared blankly at the mural of a tree in front of a massive ocean, the two kept from meeting by a vast strech of sandy beaches. He forces himself to stare at it. It was something he did every day. Until he traced every line of the mural, until he could see it when he closes his eyes. The seconds pass by as the need for coffee reaches fevered pitches. Overwhelmed, he gets up to pour a cup of coffee and sits back down. Once again imagining he was there. The waves crashing against him. The smell of salt in the air. No matter how far away, reality came crashing back demanding his attention. It was time to get his day started.

Despite setting off from his apartment briskly and full of vigor, he didn't make it ten feet. A shadow loomed outside waiting for him. "Hey bud," a familiar voice said.

"Byre," he exclaimed. "What in the Emperor's name are you doing here?"

"Saving your butt," he says. "You dug too deep for a too shinny of a prize. The grand magistrate can see the glitter of gold from space."

"When are we going to stop living on our knees and hiding in the shadows? If we can't rediscover are own technology, why can't we rediscover alien technology?"

"You know these superstitious fools will never allow it. They would have us blessing toasters. Closer to the earth, more superstitious they become." His friend was right. He takes a seat by leaning against a nearby brick wall.

"So you know who ratted us out?" His friend scratches his head and then shakes it.

"No clue. How about the foremen at the dig?"

He thought about this. "Phill? Not a chance. He is too afraid of the authorities to go to them. Got to be Dan."

"That snake," his friend says with distain "He doesn't have enough of a spine to sell us out."

He nods in agreement, but is secretly betting it was Dan. He was a mover of things, gets them from place to place with no qestions asked. But the man seems sketchy on first meeting, is sketchy even after knowing him, and is slimy as pond scum; which is fitting because he is scum. This is a guy that took cruel pleasure in insulting you ever chance he got. Back seven years ago when Aethelwulf's mom died, he called her weak for dying so easy to cancer.

Byre proposed somebody else, "Should we ask Yamada Tolvoko?"

His friend shook his hand dismissively believing this to be popsterus. "Big cheese himself? risky?"

"Worth it," he says slowly releasing a drawn out sigh. "For the business." Being unable to convince his friend causes him to shake his head out frustration. Finally, he gives up and decides to go along. They both had come to an agreement that seeing the boss was not only the best plan, but the only one. If they didn't catch the rat, the entire organization could be threatened. So they headed for the temporary headquarters.

In unison, they stood up and begin to follow the weathered and dirty sidewalk around a corner of a grey cinderblock building that was fenced off by a thick chain link fence. There the car was waiting for them next to a butcher shop with a lit up neon sign. "They're never going to fix the artificial sunlight down here, are they?"

His friend gave a laugh, "That implies they care about down here." Byre got in the driver side and he got in the passenger side. They followed the freeway running the Berth of the hive city into the middle class economy zone known as midcity.

They pulled aside a multistory warehouse constructed of pitted and eroded steel sheets held in place by rivets. Every time there was a breeze the haphazardly hung roof creaked ominously. He looks around then cast a glance at Byre. "Somethings is not right. The guards are nowhere to be seen, the warehouse workers are gone. The place is deserted. Even in the middle of the night it's not this deserted. Look around, there are no people anywhere."

Byre look at him contemplating and then takes a looks around; nodding in agreement, "Your right. We should get out encase this is a trap."

"No," Aethelwulf firmly. You could see the determination in his eyes. "I need to know what's going on. You don't have to follow me."

"When have I ever abandon you?"

"You been a good friend of mine but you got your own stuff to worry about."

Byre grabs his hand, "You're not going in there without me."

He shakes his head and sighs, "fine."

They walk around the back of the building to a set of metal stairs leading to a metal catwalk attached to office's entrance. They followed the stairs and stepped inside. It was dark and the only light that could be seen was coming from down the hall. "Hello," he calls out? "Yamada?" There was no answer. The only sound was their footsteps. "I don't mean to disturb you," he felt his hair on the back of his neck prick up, something is very wrong here.

"Do me favor, get car running Byre. Something is really wrong here and we're going to need to leave in a hurry. "

Byre nodded adding, "good idea." The man set off down the stairs. Now he was alone and immensely regretting his decision. The rows of cubicle stretch off straight to the offices, where the corridor turns left. Despite the cold feeling gnawing at his gut, he pressed. In the corridor where it turns left a single light is on. No one is in the corridor only flickering shadows. "Hello," he calls out again, but was once again met with silence. Inside the first of many rooms along the corridor, amongst the many shadow is a man standing in silence. Whoever they were, they were standing motionless facing the doorway. Even in the darkness he could sense the danger of a weapon being drawn. He jumps back bypassing a las beam meant to end his life and waste no time running for the exits. The entire way he was sure the man was right behind him, seconds away from killing him.

From Aethelwulf's pale complexion, Byre had guessed he didn't find Yamada. "You find Yamada in there?" He shakes his head.

"Someone was in there standing all creepy. He was standing motionless like a fucking statue in dark. When I got close, he tried to take my head clean off. Between the authorities and this? I don't know what the fuck is going on. Any other place Yamada hangs out?"

"The bistro on mainstreet," Byre says.

"Guess we're going there," Aethelwulf says kicking the car, starting to pace about nervously with a quick glance back at the warehouse. Finally, he gets in with a slamming of the car door.

Bistro was nice, even the artificial sunlight worked; low up beat music played in the background. There was quite the murmur from patrons. But no Yamada. His steely grey eyes swept the bar, but once again didn't turn up anything. A waiter bumps into him while passing by. The blow to his shoulder is hard enough to sting. As he is watching the bistro, someone is watching him. A man approaches him wearing a grey vinyl jacket with a white undershirt and a white vest. "Looking for yamada?"

"Yes," he replies.

"So is everyone," the man says "He has been missing for days."

"You think ..." He pauses dreading what he is about to say. "The authority got him."

"Nah, the authority never got close enough to pin him. Tell you what, why don't you take a seat. Order whatever you like on the house. If Yamada shows up, I'll give you a call."

"Thanks," he says with curtly nod. He goes to retrieve Byre.

Byre and Aethelwulf's are sitting at a round bistro table covered by a white table cloth, together in the upper class bistro. Both men are nursing a drink and staring at nothing. Though Aethelwulf's is playing with his drinks as well. The light in the bistro turns down low and slow music is playing. Byre speaks first, "I don't like this, first the authority and now Yamada is missing? I'm telling you we have a rat in our midst." Aethelwulf looks up from his drink.

"We don't even know if Yamada is in danger," he tries to argue, but he does see his friend's point.

"What can we do next? Yamada is gone for now. We can't peddle technology anymore." Byre adds the next part of the conversation and critical piece of the puzzle.

"I won't become part of the problem by peddling flesh and drugs. I'll go legitimate for a while."

"Man, there is no money in going straight." Byre replies and dismissed the entire preposterous idea out of hand.

Wulf slams his hand on the table. "I'm not some petty criminal. You're either the solution or part of the problem. No, is my final answer."

"So," Byre asks swooshing his drink in his right hand, "what job would you have me take? A sell sword or a butcher?"

"I know these streets Byre; I could guide people through them. I know every backalley and every hidden passage. I can guide them safely, maybe." There is a brief silence between them. "I can be an officer in the PDF." Byre snorted.

"You? In the PDF, fat chance. What about maintenance? Your sharper than a tack." Wulf gets a chuckles out of this. "You have a knack for trading."

Wulf raises one finger adding, "and getting into trouble."

"I'll drink to that," Byre say lifting his glass of ale. Wulf returns the gesture.

The glass windows to the bistro explode raining glass down around them, las fire erupted from outside, patrons begin screaming. Wulf hid under the table, as well as his friend, and drew his sidearm. But dare not move from his position. The staff had drawn their concealed weapon turning the bristo into a warzone. The entire ordeal took a minute but felt like a life time to those that participated.

"Solomanders," Byre said standing up. "What are they doing this far up. They're an undercity gang. Security in Somburg is terrible."

An older man with grey eyes half buried under bushy eyebrows and with the body of a younger man over hears the conversation and speaks up; Wulf looks at him. The man says, "How dare they attack the Yamada family, bunch of petty gang members. If they wanted a war, by the emperor and the gods before the golden age of man, I will give them one."


	2. A new direction

The attack was over in seconds, but the damage was already done. Luckily nobody was killed, but there was extensive property damage and several injuries. The days that followed were constantly interrupted by vivid flashes of memories. Looking up to see frighten people frantically running for cover. The streets choked with people checking on loved ones. The image of Jo's terrified face as he frantically tried to help injured patrons was burned into his retina, the man was relieved to see no serious injuries.

Despite the damage and the memories, he returned a few days later since it was his favorite watering hole. The owner barely had time to board up the broken windows, seats still covered in glass from the shattered windows and the cotton stuffing is still falling out of holes burned in the seat cushions. The bar still smelled of ozone from the blaster fire. The owner paid him a glance, clearly wondering why he had bothered showing up at all with the state of the place. Instead of letting him drink in peace, the owner approaches him. Jo had actually grown up with his father, so he had intimate knowledge of the man. The man was there when he was younger, took him out of the great city to his grandmother, to the arcades, and on hunting trips to reduce the numbers of Komodo-dredges. The furious huge bipedal lizard with a proportionally large armored heads and shark like teeth.

The old Man is quite antsy for some reason like something is bothering him. Though he wasn't sure what it was. The man was watching him intently but at the same time seeming looking through him. It was like the wheels in the man's head were slowly turning, like a pen being click on and off. Eventually after making up his mind, the man walks over slowly. He catches him walking over out of the corner of his eye.

"Joe Joe, what is it?" He asks worried. I see in your eyes that something is bothering you. It's a plane to see." Jo is not surprised by the sharpness of his friend. The old man was looking at him, a cold dead stare.

"We got to defend our own. We're not the crime syndicate, we don't have foot soldiers. Aethelwulf, I knew your father. He was good man."

"I'm not my father," he barked back angrily.

"But you care about this lower city, just like you father. Are you willing to let everything fall apart? Get worse than it is already?"

The insinuation causes him to scoff and lean against the table behind him. "This community is not my problem. It's not my problem, I have my own problems." He mumbles diverting his gaze.

"If you don't care, how come you haven't join Erwin? I know he is good for it. Do you just not want to get involved?"

He looks at Jo with visible twitching eyebrow and spoke prepared a speech from the heart. One for when people compared him to his father, Jo had already heard it. "My father saw the best in everyone, even a dying community. He had forsaken his own family for everyone else's sake. Instead of being home on my birthday, he was out helping catch the Dahlia murderer. He broke so many promises just to help the community."

Jo stepped closer undeterred saying, "This community is being torn apart by crime factions. They're killing people indiscriminately, waging war in the street with little concern for who gets hurt. You and I are directly involved and have a chance to actually do something about it. At least your father stood for something, wanting to be remembered as more than a petty thief." Jo's entire rhetoric was bit more than he could stand. It was so off putting that he was about to up and leave. Jo had a very real point, a man much like his father. A man always willing to put others first. He wasn't like this.

When he finally spoke, it was an uncontrolled octave. "Just because I'm part of the Yamada clan or my father's son doesn't make it my job to save his community." The anger inside him roiled like the ocean threatening to drown him. "I'm only one man. No one else is lifting a finger to save it. Everyone else is determine to watch this town burn and make s'mores over its burning remains." Sarcasm was his native language. "I'm not going to sacrifice my life for a worthless cause."

"It's worthless cause people like you won't stand up for it," Jo points out. "The people need a hero, someone to unite behind."

His response is an aggravated growl, "Find someone else." He storms out of the building nearly knocking over the table on the way out.

He staggers down the street with angering gnawing away at him. He looks arounds suddenly aware that he is lost. The shock snapped him out of his fit of anger. He leaned against a sign with the city street and takes a moment to think. Thymes street is south of Dresden street. He must have wandered south through the narrow back alleys. Whenever he was upset he would go to Jo's restaurant and now not being able to go is bothering him. The situation felt so hopeless, at that moment he made a wish to push it all away. He always had one person to turn too, someone he could count on, one last person. Pulling out his Vox, a familiar voice says, "Hey Wulf." His response is flat from exhaustion. But his friend had known him far too long, "What's wrong?"

"Hey, let's meet up at your place."

Byre replied avoiding the subject, "Why not meet up at Jo's Restaurant?" His friend's question causes his cheeks to flush out of embarrassment.

There was an awkward pause and he sighed in exhaustion. He caved in a few seconds later with little pressure mostly from being too tired to think up a lie; even though coming up with a believable lie would be easy. "I got in a fight with Jo."

He heard a groan over the vox. There was a pause and then his friend replied with a hardy laugh, "No problem. I have just the place in mind."

:/

Byre met up with Wulf in a nightclub. A rather up beat place with everything from the music to the lights promoting happiness. This Wulf hated. Not because he wanted to be unhappy, but because he didn't know how to be happy. The lights and music were almost an insult to his sense. He knew he should be upset with the situation, but why was being happy making him so furious. His anger created a pressing need to ask his friend, "Why did you choose this place again?"

His friend turns to look at him and gave a laugh in reply. The man pulls out a chair and sits down, choosing not to speak for a moment. Instead his friend sits quietly fidgeting as he stands over him. When his friend speaks it wasn't directed at him. "Just because you want to be unhappy doesn't mean the rest of the universe wants to be unhappy." He pats his friend on the shoulder for reassurance and sit down across from him. "So," his friend says signaling for a waiter "This is about you finding work?"

"No," he says glumly "Jo wants my help in his misguided crusade to ride the lowercity of the Solomanders."

Byre puts up both hands in mock defensive position, "Woh, woh, in his defense they did shoot up his restaurant and you know the lowercity better than anyone. Still ..." His voice trails off again becoming nothing more than a depressing mumble. His voice quivers fighting to be heard, "Still, how does he think to just drag you into it? You're not a fighter. Besides, this is hardly your fight."

Wulf continues saying, "He wants me to be my father." The waiter finally shows up and they both order drinks. Though Wulf was strong, the way he furiously consumed alcohol and growled at the waiter shows how deeply troubled the man had become. Byre made a mental note to watch him closely. Byre says: "you won't find the answer at the bottom of the bottle."

Regardless of what Byre meant, his comment was seen as out of bounds and patronizing. "I hate my father. He was selfish man more concerned with how people viewed him and leaving a legacy; not for his children but for himself. He feared death, feared being forgotten. I wise woman once told him everyone is selfish. Even the most selfless acts are committed for selfish reasons. He wanted to see himself as a good man and be loved by the community. Both are extensively selfish acts. Even in death the community still worships him and expects him to save them."

"Why not," asks a new voice? The voice is deep meaning the speaker is male. Wulf looks over his shoulder at the new comer, but can't get a good look. Still it wasn't worth getting up to look at him. "Your father was the perfect role model. Most people live and die in this world without ever being noticed. Your dad entered this world and never left. It was that fame that many suspect ended his life. Though I have a feeling you believe this too. It's why you so greatly distant yourself from your father. People see so much of your father in you, so much potential. But it's not the life you have chosen."

"Listen," he says pointing at stranger "I don't know who you are and I don't care. Who are you to presume you can come here and dictate what I care about."

"Because I know you, maybe indirectly. But I been watching you. You lived here as long as me." The man takes a step closer and he finally take in some of the detail. The light brown curly hair cut short on top of his wide forehead. Deep thoughtful eyes laced with purple rings. Whether this was from lack of sleep or genetics, he didn't know. There were still trace of freckle worn away from sun exposer long ago. But his pale complexion shows he had been indoor for many years. The man's skin was stained from pollution, he was a native of Somburg.

"You helped many people. But the lower city is a family. We can only survive if we stick together. You helped us before. I'm asking you to do it again."

"Times have changed ..."

Wulf attempts to dissuade the stranger from pressing onward, but his attempts were too weak. "Your right, times have change. Ivan and his Solomander raid are city. Erwin abducts people right off the streets to be enslaved and hooking our people on 'Emperor knows what' drugs. No one else will stand up to Erwin or Ivan. Your the only one not cowering in fear. We need a precise fearless leader."

"To do what," he asked annoyed?

"To hold this community together." The man rests his right hand on Aethelwulf broad left shoulder.

"What are you asking exactly for me to get involved in?"

"Coalition, a group dedicated to protecting the lower city. You don't have to join right now, just think about it. This town needs a new sheriff."

Wulf nods in agreement, "Not likely to be me. But I agree, this town needs some law and order." The stranger drops a card on the table and pays Wulf one more glance over his shoulder and walks away.

-/

He was never so happy to be home or to see his girlfriend. The inviting smell of his home and familiar feeling greeted him. "How was your day," he heard stepping inside. He was caught off guard by the question, but since it was a common harmless question, he didn't know why it surprised him.

"Eh," he didn't really want to talk about it. "Terrible, I met a strange person who seems to have some misguided view of me. I never bothered asking his name. He wanted me to join some kind of vigilantly group to protect the undercity. I turned him down, of course. I spent the rest of my day with my friend discussing how well I know the area, how I got a good deal of experience dealing with customers. But I don't have very much legitimate experience if you know what I mean."

Sitting down beside her causes her eyes to go wide and her ears perk up. Many humans had a personality trait: over emotional. It was nothing compared to her normal emotions. It was like great storm washing across her face. She couldn't hide it and believe me she tried. She had to think about the situation, but it didn't take long. With a voice like an inspiration song, she says, "Great men make the world theirs. You been talking about making this city great again. Here is your chance. The government will never right the wrongs. Too busy making it worse to make it better." She strokes his long messy chocolate brown hair and he looks into her icy blue eyes seeing his future and his part in it.

He pulls out the card. "Time to make a difference." Something comes to mind but he doesn't say anything out of embarrassment. Her birthday is in a month. Thousands of years to the day and she didn't look a day over 800. Her face had no wrinkles or creases besides laugh lines. Her complexion was clean. Her eternal beauty made him wonder how she was going to cope with his death, but he wouldn't bring it up. It was too terrible to think of. The eternal always moves forward, always running from the past. From what he understood of her growing up after the fall, she never got to experience life during the golden age, before her people murder-fucked a god into existence. Instead he asks, "How can you stand the smell of being around humans?"

"You can get use to anything. You try being onboard a nearly inoperable craftworld and you'll see how bad it smells. I'm sure many of my people are also wondering why I chose to live among your kind.

My people thought so high and mighty of themselves. But how do you humans put it? The bigger they are the harder they fall. Living in here is comparable to living in a primitive tribal society. But didn't some of your people chose to live a primitive life to escape the modern world? I want to live my life away from technology that corrupted my people. Being around humans, you in particular, keeps my head clear. They could learn allot if they only do away with technology and put aside their prejudice."

"Someday, maybe this will be the norm."

She laughs, "Not a chance. Now what should we have for dinner?"

He looks at her thoughtfully, barely containing his love for her. His eyes are unwavering in there sparkling. "I wish I could do more for you, take you out to a real restaurant."

She laughs at him, "I think not turning me in when my escape pod crash landed is enough. Thanks for actually talking with me instead of just shooting me on sight."

"It's like you said, we got to put aside are prejudice. We're all suffering." She strokes his lips, "That's a very enlighten attitude you have there." She unbuttons her blouse and falls to the floor revealing a thin shapely frame and very curvy figure. Despite who and what she was, she had many moles and freckles. Her muscle was taught to her body giving her athletic appearance.

He scoops her up, "Aren't you all pent up today. I can help with that."

/resolution\

1288 Willamette Street he reads on the card. This looks like the place. "Hello," he screams?

A burly looking fellow with a thick old overcoat and leather legging steps from around the corner of the building. "Can I help you," he asks in an annoyed tone?

He looks at card, "I'm here to see Vircht?"

The man looks down at the card and back up at him. "You're the big shot, I know who you are. Come around back." He leads him back around the steel building to a steel door with a small peep slot. The man knocks three times and the door opens. The room is deliberately dark masking the details. Nothing but rows of shelves with concealed content. It was unusually damp and his footsteps echoed. He walks past a second man holding the door who then promptly slams it shut. "So where is Vircht?" Neither men gave a reply. So he wanders down the corridor. Strange, you know for an organization dedicate to helping the community, you sure act shady.

Movement from behind him, a voice in the dark. "I'm sure your aware that these aren't peaceful times. A small amount discretion is called for. Besides who doesn't like a good mystery. We can't publicly advertise. Good people don't live long in Somburg."

"So bad men doing good things," he says asking rhetorical question before facing the stranger. Though his face in concealed in shadow, he could still make out the strong jaw line and prominent chin. The man motioned for him to follow into the darkly lit corridors. They took a left, a right, another right, and another left through the corridors. Straight into a blinding light of a well-lit room. With computers whirring and humming in the background. People were stationed at the desk calculating all type information. None of them looked friendly and most of them looked out of place behind a desk.

After walking to a desk in the center of the dull concrete room that was uncomfortably hot from all the computers, Vicht asks "What do you know about the situation?"

"Erwin is putting presser on me to join his crew. Though he says it's my choice, I know his type. He won't wait around forever. I'm seen as a threat and rival. Complacency has made him grow weak. He was the only crime syndicate in the lowercity. The local gangs were too weak to challenge his rule. The solomander are something knew, Ivan is something knew. They're half crazed, so crazed, I wouldn't be surprised if they worshipped chaos. They attack the PDF with reckless abandonment."

So Vicht asks, "Do you think they are the biggest threat?"

He pulls up a chair close to the desk and takes a seat, folding his arms to think. After a moment he looks up. "Yes, I don't know why anyone joins them. I don't know much, most of what I've heard is rumors."

Amongst the clutter of the desk: pencils, scattered papers, photos, several data pads, two candles, a cup of old coffee, and a single snow globe. Vicht picks up the snow globe and rolls it in his hands. "The I-95, I-98, Dalian Creek road, and Birch street. These have become the devil's playground. You see them there along the side of the road. There already moving drugs. People who get in there way turn up dead. Even those unfortunately disliked by the gang turn up dead."

"So we have problem then. How do we restore law and order? Do we have an army?"

"What army?" Vircht lets the snow globe drop with an audible thud. "We have no army."

He leans across the desk, "No, we have something better. We have more than a million people willing to fight for their homes. People down here stick to themselves and mind themselves. We got to get people to stand up. We got no central news system. No way to get the information out. But I know where to start."

"What are you proposing," Vicht asks?

"Reaching out to the community. Leaving data pads on people door steps." He sits up to make a sweeping gesture followed closed triumphant closed fist.

"It's a start," Vircht admits. "Shift the community toward unifying and drive them against the Solomanders. Vicht finally sat down rubbing his chin absentmindedly while thinking.

"I know people," Aethelwulf says "You'll need to rely on me." He stood up abruptly saying, "You put things into motion to be sure, but once a seed is planted, it's up to the seed to grow." Despite his abrupt behavior, Vicht wasn't alarmed or even cared. If Aethelwulf failed, it wouldn't change anything and things simply would remain the same. He let man leave to do whatever he had planned.

He could have returned home or called Byre, but he is so full of zeal that he got started right away. If anyone had connections to the community, it was Larry Lebowski, owner of small but wildly known butcher shop. The man himself is hulking and burly fellow with a large round shaved head. Larry's family is large as an imperial divinity and his extended family was twice that. After wiping his feet on the mat outside, he enters the butcher shop. The door swings open and causing a bell to ring. The owner had one great cleaver held high over a rack of meat, looking over the counter, his eyes light up. "Aethelwulf," he yells in a resounding booming voice. "What brings you here? Can I get you a prime cut?"

"Not today old boi, not today. I've come for a conversation."

"So you know what's going on with the lowercity?"

"What do you mean? Erwin moving in or the Solomanders?" The great clever falls splattering gore across the counter and there is the sound of bones crunching.

He rests his hand on the counter trying his best to avoid getting gore on his hands and looks around the tiny shop. It was well decorated for it size, even having curtains, a small matt, and floral wallpapers in bright colors meeting utilitarian design of the kitchen. Pictures of his family adorn the customer area. The man was quite unlike his family. They were small, the man is big. They ranged from skinny to average, he was a fat round man with rosy cheeks.

After thinking about what he was going to say, he says, "Solomanders for start. You know the price of pain this town deals with. How many lives have we let go because we felt helpless? You are a doorway to the community."

"Since when did Aethelwulf become community defender, Larry asks with a snort?

"Since he lost his job," he snaps back at him gritting his teeth. "And since the entire community jumped down his throat."

"You been talking to Vicht haven't you? What has he proposed this time?" He puts the clever aside and leans against the counter.

"Simple," he says drawing an imaginary line for Larry to cross, "warn the community, reach out to them."

"Form an army," Larry cuts in.

"Exactly, we're just as lawless as the lowercity, same gun to citizen ratio. Which is 5 to 1 by the way.

"So you expect me to insight organize attack on psycho gang?"

He leans in close, "yeah, essentially."

Larry leans his full weight against the counter causing it to creak. "Tell you what, I'm interested. I'll make some phone calls. But this is a terrible plan and people will get killed, that …" he pauses for emphases "is on you."

Wulf stands up, "I don't expect you to help, merely think about what we discuss." He reaches out to shake his hand, until next time. He walks out.

/Charlatan street, mane undercity\

He arrived two hours too late, too far away when the vox call came in. The PDF were nowhere to be seen perusal despite the fact they were in charge of dealing with crimes. Despite the fact that this looked like a warzone. There were several causality who died completely unarmed despite most people having guns. Second, it was Erwin crime syndicate hideout. It was no coincidence that it happened here. The innocent bystanders being killed were unfortunate fact of life. Lastly, the Solomanders had a unique ragged look and sigil burned onto their face with hot iron; much like livestock. They also had lower quality weapons. This was a declaration of war. Now a crowed of lowercity citizens had gathered around to contemplate the meaning for the lowercity. He knew it was beginning of the end. Nothing had gone right and he knew it.

At approximate 7:50 am another battle erupted between the crime syndicate and Solomander. This one was a true sign of things to come, leading edge of the storm. There was no way to stomach the five civilians killed. He felt his heart drop. The weeping family were the worst. These people needed to be given names instead of being a statistic. No official help came, none. Community was tending to its own. The crowd was alternating from screaming in outrage to talking to one another. "No," he screams trying to be heard over the crowd. He climbs on top of a car screaming, "You don't get to forget or make it all go away. These were people, people who were part of the community." The crowd falls deathly silent. Their pale faces were staring blankly with empty eyes.

Frustrated beyond reason with the crowd's reaction, he screams, "So your sons, daughters, mothers, fathers, sisters and brother can die? You won't avenge them? You won't help them? It's beyond your power to care about the person besides you? What if was your child lying dead?" The crowd turns away disinterested. With furry, he jumps down grabbing a random person. "You stand there and do nothing? How do you feel knowing the person besides you won't lift a finger to help?" The man struck him in the face causing Aethelwulf to stagger. The crowd gasp in shock. "Well," he screams "It's ok to hit me, as long as murders walk the streets?"

The altercation with the man had caught so many off guard. He didn't notice that one of the victims' mother is approaching him. "Thanks for trying. I thought this community cared. But they don't." She says with teary eyes and tear stained face.

"The worst thing for good men to do is nothing. This town is falling apart."

She tries to smile but can barely twitch the corners of her mouth. Her beautiful features were twisted into a horrible grimace. "I'll do what I can. I want to help. So do the rest of the grieving families."

"I'm sorry, but right now we need an army. We have to drive them from the lowercity. Without people willing to get their hands dirty, there isn't much we can do. I have an idea though. Again I'm so sorry for your loss." He waited a heartbeat and then turns to leave.

There was a voice from behind him, one he didn't recognize. It was kind of shrill but with a kind of softness. The tone was somber almost flat and lifeless. "Excuse me, you are Aethelwulf?"

"Yes," he says curiously "how did you know?"

"I'm a reporter with Real truth news. You're a local legend with the government. The infamous smuggler. But now your crying out against this outrage?"

"Yes," he says "this community stays asleep while monsters plunder it. Since when did this community become a battleground between two forces?"

"How would you like to come to our studio for an interview?"

He gave a warm smile, "I would like that very much."

It was dimly lit on Laegartheur street. Aethelwulf only company is an eerie wind after noticing the black speeder with tinted windows parked across the street. Its owner is well known and rightly feared. But not by him. There were footsteps and he felt a heavy presence. "Erwin Baewulf," he says unsurprised "welcome." He turns around. The devil himself, what do I owe the honor? What I can help you with?"

"You know what. Yamada is gone. I know it and you know it. We still have a need for someone with your skills." Erwin was standing in front of him in the flesh wearing a pressed dark blue buttoned up suit. The suit barely contained his considerable girth. The man's stubby sausage fingers were being dug into by multiple decorative rings probably more expensive than his apartment.

"I won't be your drug peddler or flesh merchant."

"Come now, it's not that bad. This city has a deep hunger gnawing at its bones. It would tear itself apart without me."

"You're a snake, biting down and pumping venom into its veins and rotting it within." Wulf replied unafraid of the repercussion for speaking out.

Baewulf raised his right pointer finger, "I only tolerate your tone because you still have your uses. Your title is the only reason I don't kill you where you stand."

Aethelwulf unconcerned replies with a crooked smile, "Why do I have get my hands dirty? The solomanders will kill you soon enough."

Erwin deep seated face and large jowls twitched, "The Solomanders are a pathetic lower city gang."

He rebuttal, "From what I hear your taking heavy causality. You didn't even have the manpower to spare as bodyguards for tonight. Your all alone out here defenseless."

The man furrowed his brow and pulls out a handkerchief to wipe away the beads of sweat from his face. "We will see," he says in a quivering voice. Abruptly, he turns around and heads for his car. This prompts Wulf to make a gun out of his dominate hand. "Bang," Aethelwulf says.

"So your protesting the violence," she asks. During the interview, the new reporter Stacey Lange was not relying on que cards and was asking question off the top of her head while holding her composer.

"No much bigger than that. Every citizen here is allowed to carry guns and down here more people have weapons than food. We're no stranger to violence. But we do nothing about the killing in the street. One man defending himself if threatened isn't enough of a reason for these people to leave us alone. We need to work together, as a community, to drive them away. A true victory is to make your enemy see they were wrong to oppose you in the first place. To force them to acknowledge your greatness."

"So what your proposing is a war?"

"Mam," he says leaning into the camera. "The war is already here. Lucy Boughton, Emily Watson, Emerson Hasselhoff, Mark Labelle. These people didn't know the war was here. Now their lives have been cut short. I would like a moment to talk about these victims, to give them life. They were people not victims, not numbers on a graph. Lucy boughton was going to uppercity college to be lawyer. Something almost unheard of. If your born in the lowercity, you die in the lowercity. She almost made it out. In her younger life, she was a fan of classical music and books: She was studying criminology because she hates the system. Like many people she wanted to bring law and order. Emily Watson's life may not have been as glamorous, but it was still a life. She had been everything from a garbage man to a secretary. She worked hard and was active member of the community. She consoles those who had lost loved one. But now who console her loved ones? The community seemingly forgot all those she saved."

Emerson Hasselhoff is a man of few word, but the few word spoken were very important. He worked in maintenance for the last twenty years of his life. The job of maintaining the life support systems and repairing industrial process. He had few friends but no enemies. His coworker like him. No wife or kids to speak of.

Mark Lubelle was known for an incredible amount of friends he had. In the work place, he was a drifter. He never found something he was good at. Yet he made lifelong friends as he went. He liked to think he was a song writer and a composer even though he was terrible at both of those things. Mark was a good name because he left a mark on the hearts of so many.

These people come from every walk of life, of every race and color. They're being killed, their families suffering equally. There is no difference between you and them. We're all the same. That why we have to stand together."

"Those are some heartwarming words, I pray that people take them to heart. For our children's sake."


End file.
